Day of Wrath
by St.Stephen's
Summary: A man changed the way Cameron thought about himself. Three men and one girl changed the way he thought about the world.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Day of Wrath  
Author: St. Stephen's  
Series: The Copycat Series (2)  
Summary: Series: How the Saints affect two lives. Story: A man changed the way Cameron thought about himself. Three men and one girl changed the way he thought about the world.  
Disclaimer: No money, no sue, yeah, Mr. Duffy? I mean, come on, you have enough problems getting ASD together. You don't need the hassle of suing lil ole me, right?**

**AN: (PLEASE READ, DO NOT SKIP!) Ok so, my brilliant beta MKOLO says that I should explain how this series is working, so that everybody understands what's happening when. I told her that you were all genius mind-readers, but she seems to disagree, so here we go. Be Thou My Vision and Day of Wrath are the same action from two different points of view and take place at the same time. Here is the timeline:**

**March 1999: Boondock Saints Main Action  
June 1999: Yakavetta trial (what you mean you didn't see the 'Three Months Later" subtitle?) Ch.'s 1 of both Day of Wrath and Be Thou.  
Late August 1999: Ch.'s 2  
September 1999: Ch's 3  
Fall 1999-January 2000: Ch's 4  
March 2000: Ch's 5**

**Get it? Got it! Good! Anyway, on we go! (any questions, see me after class.)**

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Chapter 1: Nature Quaking

"Oh come on, Cameron. Let's talk about something else."

He was left sitting alone on the couch when Mark got up to get another beer. The baseball game on the TV continued, but Cam hated baseball, and he hated it when Mark called him Cameron. He hated their apartment, a tiny, dirty one-bedroom across from the airport, with barely enough room for their bed, a couch and a coffee table. But it was all an EMT and an out-of-work actor could afford, even in a small town like Roanoke. Cam spread his arms across the back of the couch and propped his feet on the coffee table.

"No. I'm talking about this."

"Well it's fuckin' depressing!" Mark's New York accent was muffled by the refrigerator door as he dug into the back of the fridge in search of the elusive beer.

"Don't drink my Boddington's!" Cam called out, lighting a cigarette and reaching for his ashtray.

"That shit? Tastes like piss." Mark reappeared, leaning against the open doorframe into their galley kitchen. He was holding a Miller Lite and he smirked as his boyfriend shuddered.

"Thus sayeth the man holding an American beer." Cam slid down a little into the couch, flicking the ash from his smoke into the ashtray next to him. Mark grimaced and crossed the room to open a window. "What the fuck are you doing?" Cam exclaimed. "It's June! You trying to air-condition the neighborhood?"

"What are you, my mother?" Mark shot back. "Oh wait, no. My mother doesn't _smoke_."

"Doesn't know what she's missing," Cam snorted.

"Well, at least I got you off of the depressing topic of conversation." Cam shot Mark a glare. "Aw, fuck. I just postponed it for a while, didn't I?"

"Yep." The game over, channel ten switched over to the eleven-o'clock news. "Oh, look, saved by the slutty anchorwoman."

"You and your newshound ways," Mark snorted. "But yeah, she does kind of look like she should be shouting 'Hey honey, wanna date?'."

"Shh!" Cameron leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, catching the newscaster mid-sentence as Mark sighed and reluctantly slid down in his seat to watch.

"…**trial of infamous mafia Don, Giuseppe 'Papa Joe' Yakavetta ended abruptly today when three gunmen invaded the courtroom and shot the mobster in full view of 54 witnesses, including reporters and the judge. Although no recording devices were permitted in the courtroom, the New York Times has quoted the vigilantes as saying 'Do not kill, do not steal, do not rape…or we will send you to whatever god you wish.' Despite the numerous eyewitnesses, accounts vary. The only thing all accounts seem to agree on are these facts: One of the three was older, perhaps in his late fifties. All three had accents of some kind, although reports vary as to the type. They hurt no bystanders, and they promised to continue to kill criminals. The Boston Herald and CNN have already begun referring to these vigilantes as 'The Saints'."**

Cameron dropped his burned-out cigarette into the ashtray and ran a hand through his hair. He glanced over at Mark, who was staring intently at the screen, his lip curled in a sneer.

"Wow," Cam breathed.

"Yeah, Mark answered. "Yeah, that's about what I was going to say."

"It's amazing," the blonde man muttered.

"It's disgusting," Mark retorted. Cam sighed and leaned back into the sagging couch cushions, running his hand vaguely up and down the leg of his jeans. _'Oh Christ,' _he thought. _'Here we go' _But he couldn't stop the flood of words rising in his throat; it seemed he never could, not with Mark.

"Disgusting?"

"Cold-blooded murder in front of fifty-four innocent witnesses?" Mark sneered derisively. "Yeah, I'd call that disgusting."

"I'd call it justice." Cam's voice rang out clear and loud in the tiny apartment, the TV blaring on, now on some human interest story about a local Little League team.

"Justice?" Mark asked incredulously. "No, that's what he was in that courtroom for, and that's what those men deprived him of."

Cam just snorted, lighting another cigarette.

"What?" Mark demanded.

Cam shook his head and let it drop back against the back of the couch.

"No, come on," Mark persisted. "You always do this, Cameron. Just say what's going on in that head of yours."

Cam's head snapped back up and he stared intently at the handsome, lanky man on the other end of the couch. Mark stared back, his long legs splayed in front of him, his arms crossed.

"If you honestly think that Yakavetta was going to see justice, real justice in a Massachusetts courtroom, you're more naïve than I thought, Mark."

"Naïve?" Mark snorted. "Me? Please. Look who's talking." Cam shot him a glare, warning _'Do NOT bring that up right now'_ but Mark just didn't seem to get it. "I mean, you're sitting there in your designer jeans that probably cost more than my mom's car-"

"Oh, bullshit," Cam interrupted. "Why can't you get over that? So my dad has money. Do you think if I let him buy me everything I ever wanted, I'd be living in this shithole, working as an EMT? I'd be halfway through medical school by now!"

"So why aren't you?" Mark retorted.

"Christ, Mark, make up your fuckin' mind!" Cam burst out. "Should I be taking advantage of my dad, or shunning him completely? Which is it?"

Mark just shook his head, a response that was completely incomprehensible to Cam as hot anger flooded through his veins. It pushed him to his feet, taking a heavy drag from his cigarette as he glared down at Mark, nearly shouting now. "Am I a snotty rich brat who's slumming it for a few years? Is that what you think? That I'll wise up, go back to school and forget all about the man who changed my motherfucking _life_?"

"Will you?" Mark asked calmly, his eyes focused firmly up at Cam's which were now snapping with anger.

"Mark." His voice was low, calm and silky as he replied, "You're the first man I ever loved. And for Christ's sake, you're the first lover I've ever hated." Cam threw his cigarette butt to the floor, grinding it into the worn linoleum with his boot before rushing for the door, grabbing up his car keys along the way.

But Mark of course, had to have the last word, as always, calling out,

"Seen your silver spoon lately, Cameron?"

Cameron stopped, his body halfway out the door, hesitating over the threshold. He didn't turn around, but he threw a parting shot over his shoulder.

"Yeah, Mark. You've been eating with it. Good luck with your next audition. You're going to need the money."

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**AN 2: oh my, but that was a tough one to get through. What in the world do guys fight about? What do guys even TALK about when there aren't any women around? I have no clue. Here's hoping the rest of the story will go better!! Also: Story and chapter titles come from "Day of Wrath, O Day of Mourning" by Thomas de Celano, 13th century. Also, interesting tidbit: This is the hymn that the lines "While the wicked stand confounded/call me with Thy saints surrounded" come from! Google it, it's amazing poetry.**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: GAH! This one has driven me NUTS. Get off my desk, foul chapter! Enjoy.**

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Chapter 2: Creation is Awaking

Cam wheeled the dolly over the threshold of his little sister's new dorm room, managing to catch one corner of the mini-fridge on the doorjamb.

"Oh, Jesus," he muttered, glancing behind him to make sure he hadn't been caught.

Abby was struggling down the hall with her 19-inch TV, unaware of his blunder. He'd just take the fridge out of the now-crumpled box and hope that it wasn't scratched or anything. Because, knowing Abby, she'd make him go back to Lowe's and exchange it again. Last time it was because it had been white, and she wanted black. Before that, because it didn't have the little round racks for cans. So Cam just cut the tape holding the box together and unfolded it from around the refrigerator, inspecting the corner carefully.

Determining that there was nothing wrong with the fridge, Cam listened to his sisters' tandem grunts rang out as they dropped their burdens to the floor. Marie collapsed onto the still-unmade bed groaning,

"Oh, for Christ's sake. Tell me that's the last of it."

"Two more boxes," Abby sighed. "And then we have to set up the computer, figure out where to put the TV and the fridge-"

"Ugh!" Marie's anguished groan cut her sister off as she stood. "I'll get the boxes. I just want it done."

"Nope," Cam interrupted, satisfied that the fridge was fine. "You set up the computer, and we'll get the boxes and lock up the Suburban." Marie grinned brightly and began unpacking the various boxes that held the mysterious cords and plugs that she handled so efficiently.

As the two older siblings clattered down the three flights of stairs and out to the loading dock, where Cam's beloved SUV was parked, Abby sighed heavily.

"I still don't see why I couldn't bring the Beemer."

"Because freshman have to have a, quote, 'valid reason', like a job or something, for having a car on campus."

"Saturday evening shopping trips are a valid reason!"

"Besides," Cam continued, ignoring his sister's only half-teasing whine. "God only knows what kind of trouble you'd get into with a BMW, and away from Dad's watchful eye no less." Cam teased as he hefted the heavier of the two boxes in the backseat. He snorted at the idea and at Abby's struggles with the other box, which seemed to be mostly magazines. "Watchful," he sneered, "You notice he's not here to inspect your new roommate?"

"He's working," Abby said, tossing her blonde locks and fixing her brother with a defiant stare.

"It's Sunday," Cam shot back, elbowing the door to the stairwell open. "And even I, defender of the innocent, healer of hurts, asked for today off so I could help you move in."

"Yeah," Abby agreed her lips quirking at her brother's sanctimonious tone. "You're a regular Mother Theresa."

Conversation was temporarily halted as they struggled up three flights of stairs and down the long hall to the very last room on the left. Nearing the room, they could hear some very suspicious beeps and chirps, and sure enough, when they had deposited their burdens, Marie was happily playing Minesweeper on Abby's new laptop, the desk pushed against the right wall and the bed made.

"Nice," Cam drawled, startling her. "Did you fold the clothes too?"

"Please," Marie sneered, looking very much like Cam himself in that moment. "Abby would kill me if I touched her precious cashmere sweaters."

"You got that right," the older sister agreed easily as she began rifling through her now-full closet, pulling garment bags off of some items and transferring them onto others. "You have to take care of your clothes. They make the woman, you know."

"Especially when they cost more than my weekly paycheck," Cam snorted, screwing the various parts of a floor-lamp together, as Abby shot him a glare. "What?" he demanded. "It's true!"

"It doesn't have to be," Abby taunted as she turned back to her closet. Marie sunk farther down into her sister's desk chair, her eyes focused firmly on the computer screen.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Cam asked cautiously, unsure if he really wanted to open that can of worms.

"I'm just saying that you're smart enough to do anything you wanted, but no, you didn't want to go to medical school, you're just too impatient for that, aren't you, and now you're stuck in that crappy apartment-"

"Well, you don't have to worry about that anymore." Cam interrupted his sister's single-sentence tirade, hoping that she would remember to breathe between scoldings. "I moved out."

That shocked Abby into dropping onto her newly made bed to stare at him.

"You did?" she breathed incredulously. "You broke up with Mark?" Marie plopped next to her sister, and both pairs of eyes focused on him, pale green and cool grey.

"Yes," he answered simply, screwing a light bulb into the lamp he'd been working on and plugging it in.

"Great!" Marie exclaimed before her sister could shush her. "Does this mean I don't have to be nice about him anymore?"

"That's exactly what it means," Cam laughed as he finally turned to face his sisters. "Abuse away. Go ahead! Make fun of his accent, tell me he sounds like a reject from a bad mob movie. Or his hair! His hair's just screaming out to be made fun of. It's huge, he looks like a Chia pet. And don't forget his taste in beer, I make fun of that all the time. And his hypocritically health-conscious ways. Obviously it was ok for him to eat greasy French fries, but if I touched a slice of pizza, the world was ending."

The girl's eyes got wider and wider throughout this speech, casting glances back and forth between them, wondering if their older brother had finally lost it.

"Or how about his dancing? He was completely incapable of any dance other than some sort of weird Flashdance/Snoopy Dance hybrid!"

It was this, combined with the impression that Cam indulged in, throwing his arms to the ceiling and jumping up and down, that sent them off giggling madly. _'Good,'_ Cam thought. _'At least somebody's having some fun due to all of this.'_

He had stopped 'dancing' but the girls were still laughing, when he heard a timid voice from the door of the room.

"Hi." He turned to see a girl who must have been Abby's new roommate standing in the doorway, clutching a huge army-surplus canvas bag and a few smaller bags. Her nondescript brown hair hung nearly to her waist and she was wearing a grey wife beater tee, jeans and combat boots. "I'm Elise."

Abby immediately brushed past her brother, knocking him off-balance and scrambling towards the shorter girl, who was dropping her bags to the floor, and wrapped her in an exuberant hug. Cam had to intervene when the surprise on her face shifted into near-panic when she realized that Abby had no intention of letting go as she babbled on about room arrangements. The grateful look she shot him as she stared to open the huge olive-green duffle was comical, and he exchanged a giggly glance with Marie as Abby introduced them to Elise.

Elise seemed much more at ease with Marie, joking and shooting her an exasperated, eye-rolling look that clearly said _'Ugh! Older siblings!' _But when she turned to shake his hand, the slightly overwhelmed wide eyes returned, and she blurted out,

"You have really pretty eyes." Cam couldn't help but laugh at that, as it was something he heard all the time, but he shifted tactics, trying to reassure his sister's roommate that he was not laughing at her.

"Thanks!" he enthused, "You have a very cute accent." And it was true; her slightly shy demeanor and unremarkable appearance melted when she opened her mouth. The Louisiana twang was irresistible, especially when she blushed and turned away at his comment. Cam leaned towards his sister and whispered,

"You should ask if she needs help with the rest of her stuff."

"Huh?" Abby asked. "But we haven't finished unpacking mine!" Cam's smile became a little forced as he replied, sighing with annoyance,

"Honey, it's just good manners. And if you're not going to, then I am." When he got Elise's attention, Abby cut in to finish his question, and Cam thanked whatever god was in charge of younger siblings that she'd gone along. A little thoughtless his sister might be, but there wasn't a mean bone in her body.

"Um," Elise started, coloring prettily again, "the rest?"

The awkward moment that followed, as the three siblings realized that Elise didn't have any more luggage, was broken, predictably, by Marie.

"Fucking awesome!" Cam was so grateful to her that he didn't even have the heart to correct her language. With the ice broken, all four of the room's current occupants settled into an easy unpacking rhythm. Elise pulled her meager shoe collection out of her duffel and put her clothes away as Abby did the same (but it took her much longer), Cam set up the surge protectors and extension cords and Marie lounged on her sister's bed, snarking at Abby's dorm-décor ideas.

When he looked up from testing the new fridge's 'cold knob', he caught Elise pulling a manila envelope carefully from her purse. She slid the contents out, laying them on her desk and deftly catching the Scotch tape Abby tossed her when she asked for it. As he watched, she reverently began taping up newspaper clippings, website printouts, and at the center, three grainy pencil sketches, like the ones police used to identify suspects.

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**Oh thank god that's over. Lol. This one kicked my butt. So make my day and leave a review. :D Also, super-major thanks to MKOLO for not letting me slack off! Happy Early Halloween, folks!  
**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Mostly written while drunk. HA! I do my best work drunk, just ask my professors. Plus, I thought it was appropriate as Cam is hammered during the last bit. Honestly, I'm surprised the spelling came out so well. On we go.**

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Chapter Three: Each Hidden Deed

His hands are clean on the steering wheel, but he swears he can still feel the hot, sticky blood, that warmth that always seeps through the latex gloves. A heavy sigh, and Cam starts his Suburban and pulls out of the employee parking lot. Maybe this time he'll join them, everyone who gathers at that dive of a bar, the coming-off-shift relief heavy and the beer sliding down throats parched after hours of either mind-numbing boredom or frantic work. _Yes,_ he thinks. _A beer would be good. _Or at least it would be better than going back to the house.

The house, not home.

He was glad to be out of his parent's house again, after two weeks of feeling like he was going backwards, but the house he'd found, splitting the rent with three other men, was always full somehow. Full of trash or music or drunks or moans from someone else's bedroom. It wasn't home. His place with Mark had been home, even if it was only for a while.

Cam pulled the SUV in next to a vaguely familiar Cadillac and cast an eye over the bar. A dump, to be sure, but the lightly shining weakly through the tinted windows and the brightly fizzing neon sign were somehow welcoming.

As he pushed the door open, he was greeted by surprised shouts from the large corner booth to his right. Cam ran a hand through is hair, scrubbing it slightly against his scalp as he smiled a little shame-facedly at his co-workers.

"Hey folks. I figured going back to the house and swilling vodka alone sounded a little self-destructive. So here I am."

"Good on ya," Georgie slurred, pulling her own hair, blonde as his, over her shoulder. "Maybe you can have some fun, loosen up." Her wink, while aiming for 'surreptitious yet sexy' fell flat and only made it to 'blatantly obvious'. Cam snorted, slightly amused at Georgiana's complete and utter rejection of "I'm gay," as an excuse for why a man might not want to sleep with her.

He cast an eye over the dive, taking in the scuffed hardwood floors, the old but gleaming wooden tables and the slightly threadbare upholstery on the booths. The walls were covered in beer signs, including an extremely welcome framed "My Goodness, My Guinness" ad with a handwritten sign beneath it reading, "We Serve Guinness on Tap." A jukebox in the corner was whirring between songs, and although the dance floor was currently empty and little more than a space cleared of tables, it was there. Cam immediately revised his opinion of the place. _"Less dive, more honkey-tonk."_ At least, it could be. It was hard to imagine the place hopping with customers, but the potential was there.

Since no waitress appeared to take his order, Cam assumed that the protocol would involve heading to the bar and waiting as the probably-incompetent bartender overfilled his Guinness and then overcharged him for it. _Oh well_, he thought. _Nothing else for it._

"Be right back," he shot over his shoulder as he headed for the bar. Cam smiled as he recognized the tall girl behind the bar. She'd dyed her hair, now a deep burgundy that couldn't possibly be natural swinging in a high ponytail as she hung up the phone. A new tattoo, still a little shiny and red graced the back of her right hand, but it was definitely his sister's roommate.

"Hey, Dempsey," he called from the other end of the bar, noticing that the older gentlemen she had been pouring a drink for was one of the professors he'd met during orientation. "Quit angling for an 'A' and get me a beer."

Elise turned to him with a sneer that quickly melted into a warm smile as she grabbed a pint glass and began pulling a Guinness without even asking what he wanted. Of course, he had to tease her about dictating his drink, even if he had wanted a Guinness in the first place. She teased back, surprising Cam who had been expecting a blush and maybe an apology, judging by the timid girl he'd met two weeks before. He grinned wider as he paid for his beer.

Switching to Jameson's was probably a mistake, but hindsight…

It was nearly an hour later that the comfortable rhythm of good-natured teasing with Elise, sipping his whiskey and occasionally checking the score of the Georgia game on the TV above the bar was disrupted. Elise's voice, amplified and nonchalant, called last call and he ordered an Irish Car bomb to finish out the night. As he dropped the Bailey's into the heavy, dark red beer, Cam took a moment to look at the new tattoo gracing Elise's right hand. The fleur de lis on her left forearm had been there when she'd moved into the dorm, but the tribal cross was definitely new.

_Maybe,_ Cam thought with all the logically-minded fuzziness of a man who has spent the last hour getting thoroughly drunk. _Maybe I should get a tattoo._ His reverie was interrupted again by the insouciant chiming of the eleven o'clock news.

"And in national news, notorious Russian crime boss Yuri Csokas was killed today in his New York home. He was shot by three unknown gunmen, although New York police think the murder may be the work of the equally notorious Boston Saints."

"Fan-fucking-tastic." It was the best word for it, really. Would have been, even if he was sober. Elise looked at him questioningly, and he tried to elaborate, waving at the TV a little half-heartedly. It was so much easier to talk with his hands when he had a cigarette in his mouth. "Love those guys," he slurred, and dimly recalled slipping out, two weeks ago, during one of Abby's single-sentence speeches on hair care products to have a quiet smoke outside with the girl currently drying glasses. "Hey, you got a cigarette?" A pack was produced and deposited on the bar in front of him. "Yeah, yeah. I see so much shit, you know, Elise? Like last week. There was this kid shot in a drive-by. Nine, ten years old."

He pulled out a cigarette and lit it a little shakily and continued. In fact, Cam seemed to vaguely recall continuing in much the same vein, admitting to family problems, being gay and loving his sister (definitely the least embarrassing of his confessions). But the next thing he new, he was being strong-armed out the door by a girl (admittedly she was the same height as he, and outweighed him by a bit, but it was the principle of the thing).

"Hey, now," he protested mildly. "I may not be exactly in possession of my faculties-"

"Uh-huh." Elise interrupted as she struggled with the passenger-side lock of the Cadillac. "You're smashed. Get in the car, you're sleeping on my floor. It's cool."

Apparently, it was just easier to go along with her, despite her normally shy demeanor. Cam sat quietly through most of the car ride, trying to keep the contents of his stomach where they belonged, as Elise carefully guided the car through the quiet streets at ten miles an hour over the speed limit. He leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the window and sighed, wondering quietly why alcohol chose to hate him, when he obviously loved it so much. His mind was playing over the things he could remember saying in the bar and lingering over things which he wasn't sure if he'd said or not. It was only as they stopped for the red light at the turn onto campus that he said anything, hoping like hell that half of what he thought he said he'd imagined.

"Elise, I didn't mean to tell you that stuff." Cam reached back and rubbed the back of his head worriedly as he waited for her answer.

"I know. But it's ok that you did. If you don't want to tell Abby-"

"I can't!" He interrupted, snapping his head to the left to look at her, to make her understand. Although the snapping might have been a bad idea, since it did remarkable things to his sense of balance.

"Does she know about- I mean, that you're gay?" Oh. He'd actually said that. _Shit_.

"Oh yeah, she doesn't care about that. I just-" he sighed and scrubbed his hand over his face as she pulled into the parking lot. Cam pulled himself unsteadily out of the car, leaning heavily on the door to close it. He stumbled a bit as he spoke again, the sudden change from sitting to the vertical plane making his inner ear swim and his stomach turn.

"Abby believes the best about people. Always. And I don't want to take that away from her. She really believes that everyone's got good in them, very deep down."

Elise went quiet at that, shoving her hands into her pockets and sighing as they started rambling down the path to her residence hall. She gently slid an arm around his shoulders and offered him a cigarette.

"I can't blame you for wanting to protect her, Cam," Cam sighed, taking two cigarettes and lighting them both, handing the second to her. Elise took a deep drag, her eyes focused on the streetlamp ahead of them. "But you've got to be able to let it out somehow. And, well…I'm not saying you have to talk to me, but I already know how bad people can be. I've lived with it my whole life. You're not going to surprise me or take away my innocence."

Cam sighed, nodding. He sagged against her, letting her feet steer them straighter than he could manage. And as they stumbled up the wheelchair ramp to her dorm, he was just thankful . Thankful that they hadn't used the stairs (although three flights up to her floor were still facing them) thankful that she'd so readily and unconsciously offered her support, her shoulder. Thankful that he'd managed not to hurl on her cowboy boots. But mostly, Cam was thankful that, in the midst of the turmoil and upheaval in his life, Elise had offered him a safe port in the storm.

"Elise?"

"Yeah."

"I hate them."

"That's ok."

She knew who he meant. And it really was ok.

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**AN2: Also, I did this while smoking illegally in my dorm room, as once I got going, I couldn't tear myself away from the keyboard. I hope you're all happy! I could have burnt down my residence hall! ;) Thank MKOLO, Matt Damon, Leonardo DiCaprio and Martin Scorsese for this one. I saw the Departed and it kicked me right in the ass. Violence, cursing and the Boston Irish Mob. Lovely. Also, Mark Wahlberg, whose Boston accent is surprisingly good**

**MKOLO says: SWEETS…MARK WAHLBERG IS FROM BOSTON! IT OUGHTTA BE GOOD!**

**Me: I didn't know that! Ha, I learned something.**


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